


The Queen's Strategy

by Lassarina



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The game that Balthier and Ashe are playing, which I dubbed Raithwall's Gambit, is actually a complete rip-off of The Royal Game of Ur, which you can look up on Wikipedia (but I take no responsibility for the three hours of fascinated clicking sure to follow and end with Taft in a wet T-shirt contest...)  I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it!</p></blockquote>





	The Queen's Strategy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frolicsome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frolicsome/gifts).



Ashe felt the reverberation through the _Strahl's_ frame as the airship rapidly descended through a grey mass of clouds. Despite the bumpy ride, she had to give the Archadian ship its due; she had ridden in enormous diplomatic-class ships that would have had the top of her head repeatedly kissing the ceiling in this sort of weather.

The _Strahl_ shuddered again and then the mass of clouds was gone, only to be replaced by a nearly impenetrable sheet of pounding rain. The ship descended rapidly and landed fairly lightly, all things considered. Ashe even managed not to accidentally bite her tongue when it touched down, which was better than she could say for the last time she'd been on a ship that landed in a storm.

She was curious as to where they were—though she could guess as to the reasons for the _Strahl's_ landing—but she would not give Balthier the satisfaction of coming to find him. Instead she turned her face to the window and watched the water stream down. She thought she could see trees as vague blurs of green and brown, but she wasn't sure.

A gentle rap at the door preceded Fran's entrance. "We are on the edge of Tchita, near Cerobi," the viera said calmly, "but the storms in Cerobi prevent us from reaching Balfonheim, and the _Strahl_ is not equipped to fly through Jagd. We remain here until the storm abates."

Ashe nodded. "Do you know how long we will be grounded?" she asked. The whole point in going to Balfonheim was to replenish supplies diminished by their recent long string of hunts, and to trade in their trophies, before going on to the Pharos.

Fran shifted her shoulders slightly and inclined her head. "It depends upon the storm," she said. "Perhaps a day."

After three days of flying across all Ivalice in each other's enforced company, tempers were already frayed. Ashe hid her wince at the prospect and nodded again.

"The Captain and I will hunt," Fran said. Her left ear twitched. Ashe barely kept from heaving a sigh of relief at the thought that Balthier would be gone and she would get some precious peace.

"Then I wish you good hunting," she said.

The click of Fran's heels faded down the hallway, and Ashe curled up on the bed, staring out into the rain without really seeing it. This much water nearly made her nervous; of course rain poured down in Giza during the Wet, and she was no stranger to the idea of rainstorms, but Dalmasca was by and large a dry and windy country.

Her next visitor did not bother with the courtesy of knocking, though she supposed that she must in fairness admit that she had not closed the door after Fran's departure, meager protection though it afforded. She refused to condescend to actual speech, instead bestowing her best royal glare upon Balthier when he ducked into the tiny cabin and ensconced himself upon the other end of the bed as though it was his personal throne.

"I do not recall inviting you," she said coolly, "and in any event, ought you not be hunting with Fran?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I would remind you, Princess, that this is my ship." A momentary pause, and a tilt of the head. "I have no intention of going hunting with Fran. She might love the rain, but it's immensely destructive to my garments, and I have few enough in good repair and cleanliness as it is."

"But she said—" Ashe began, and then recalled Fran's exact phrasing, and the fact that she had never heard Fran refer to Balthier by aught else save his name.

Balthier's grin suggested that he knew exactly what Fran had said, and what conclusion Ashe had drawn. "In any event, I would not intrude on her peaceful time with Basch," he said, examining his cuffs meditatively. "She is ill-equipped to deal with so many people aboard the _Strahl,_ and he irks her less than the rest of us." He winced as a crash from the general direction of Vaan's quarters punctuated his statement.

"And yet you show little thought to intruding upon _my_ peaceful time," Ashe said pointedly.

"Come now, Princess, we have been over this. It is my ship."

"What is it you _want,_ Balthier?" she snapped, completely out of patience with him.

When his grin widened, she cursed herself for the miscalculation and the ill-chosen words. "There are many things I want, Princess," he said. "However, many of them would probably think you had cause to draw your weapon, so let us say I would enjoy your company for the afternoon. Perhaps a game?"

Ashe mentally examined his request, seeking the trap that she was certain lurked beneath the innocent-seeming invitation, but nothing presented itself. "What game?" she asked warily.

"Lady's choice."

Now she was certain it was a trap, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her retreat. "Very well, then," she said. "Raithwall's Gambit." It was a game commonly played in Dalmasca and Nabradia—in fact, one of her first chaperoned outings with Rasler had involved a game of Raithwall's Gambit—but little known outside the old Galtean Alliance, and she knew Archadians tended to prefer chess.

"I confess I am unfamiliar," Balthier said, and Ashe concealed her satisfaction. "Is it a card game? One played on a board? Or with words?"

"It's a board game," Ashe said. "It's been played in Galtea for centuries."

"I see." Balthier tapped his fingers against the scuffed leather of his boot top. "Have you the game board?"

"I do, yes." It was the sole luxury she allowed herself; though designed for two players, the game could be played with one person against herself, and the board was small. Ashe dug into her pack and withdrew the case. It was a simple wooden box, not more than three hand-spans in length and a single hand-span across. The lid served as the game board; one half was divided into a grid, three squares by four; then to its right, two squares centered, and then a two-by-three grid. Five of the spaces had simple rosettes drawn on them. The lid slid off to allow access to the pieces, which were comprised of seven white pawns and seven black, and a trio of pyramidal dice with their corners painted in red and white.

Once, Ashe had owned a much larger set inlaid with white jade and mother-of-pearl, with pieces carved of ivory and obsidian. Her dice had been cast in gold and tipped with tiny, exactingly cut rubies and diamonds, the paths laid out with baguette-cut sapphire and emerald. That game board had been left behind when Vossler hurried her out of the palace; the one she carried now had been purchased for three gil from a street vendor, to amuse her in the time before Vossler would permit her to leave their secure hideaway. Resolutely Ashe put away thoughts of what she'd once had, and the protector she had trusted.

"The basics are simple enough," she began, dividing the pawns according to their colour. "Each pawn is identified by its dots, and each has specific rules to its movement. You move the pawns according to your dice throws, and the objective is to take each pawn around its path and off the board." She continued to explain the rules, and for once, Balthier was mercifully silent as she did so.

She allowed him to take the white pawns and to go first, and watched as he rolled the dice for his first turn and came up with naught. In truth, Raithwall's Gambit was far more strategic than the dice suggested, though that fact was usually not obvious to new players. Ashe picked up the dice on her turn and threw a correct combination to get her first piece on the board, which Balthier had not managed. It was a small triumph, but she took such things as she found them these days.

Their game progressed in silence a little while, a thing for which Ashe was grateful. She had perforce become accustomed to the clangor and chaos of many people in a small space during her time with the resistance, but she welcomed the opportunity for silence.

When she took one of Balthier's pawns with her own, he sighed. "You wound me, Princess," he quipped, and tossed the dice to come up with three reds, the highest movement available. His own pawn slew one of hers, and Ashe bit back a mutter of exasperation.

"So, pirate," she said, rolling and moving a pawn off the board at last, "truthfully, why plague me now?"

"Princess, I must take exception. I am hardly a plague." He leered playfully at her. "Mayhaps a fever in the blood, but that's an altogether more enticing proposition, don't you think?"

Ashe willed her voice to evenness. "I think my statement most accurate," she replied. "And you have not answered my question."

Balthier threw a red and two whites, and studied the board thoughtfully, seeming to weigh his options between moving a pawn off the board and bringing a new one onto it. "I desired intelligent conversation," he said eventually, opting for the new piece, "and, seeing as Fran had departed to either hunt or tumble in the hills--I neither know nor care which--you were the next best option."

That stung her pride, and she snatched up the dice to take her turn. Seeing the glitter of amusement in his eyes, she forced herself not to rise to the bait any farther. "Strange," she mused aloud, taking the move her throw allowed her. "I would have thought the children a better match for your average conversational skill." She held out the dice with a poisonously sweet smile, one she had perfected on the least-liked of her father's ministers. (Her disdain had turned out to be well-placed, as they had been among the first to turn their cloaks when Archades claimed rights of treaty.)

Balthier rolled his eyes in exaggerated dismay. "Princess, please," he protested. His throw yielded an opportunity to move a pawn off the board, and he did so. Once again, they lapsed into silence as they moved their pieces. Ashe had a run of excellent luck that allowed her to very quickly move most of her pieces around the board and then off, but then was stymied by a series of invalid throws. Balthier progressed more slowly, but more steadily.

Ashe studied the board. They each had one piece remaining, and she was one move and then a lucky throw away from winning. She weighed the dice in her palm, studying the board. Many sets of Raithwall's Gambit were used for divination in addition to amusement, the movements of the pawns supposed to correspond to Zodiac tiles on the underside of the box. She wondered what fortune she was casting for herself just now.

It did not matter anyway. Fate would be what she made of it. If naught else, she had learnt that in the last few years.

She tossed the dice, and they came up the right number to get her last pawn onto the final rosette. Of course, she could stay there for several turns until she threw the right number to move her piece. She handed the dice back to Balthier, and felt a little jolt of energy pass between their hands when her fingertips brushed his palm. She ignored it, and stared at the board as though the secrets of freeing Dalmasca lay hidden in its simple engravings.

Balthier shook the dice in his hand, and they rattled in a way that sent shivers creeping down Ashe's spine. The rattle sounded like death, like the snakes that hid in the Dalmascan desert or the sound of lungs taken septic. She clenched her hands into fists until her nails dug into her palms.

Dice rattled and clattered as Balthier threw them. Ashe counted the points automatically. There were not enough to allow Balthier to move his last piece off the board.

"Your turn," he said, and she found the intensity of his gaze rather uncomfortable. She took the dice from him with great care and cast them with rather more force than was strictly necessary.

Four points.

"The lady wins," Balthier said, inclining his head. After a moment's pause, he added, "This round."

Ashe gathered the pieces to return them to the box. "Thank you for playing with me," she said politely.

"Thank you for your company." Balthier gave her what she supposed he thought was a dashing smile. "Much better than stewing alone in the rain, don't you think?"

Ashe shrugged, and put the box back away. She had the feeling there was something else at work here, and knew not how to handle it.

"Perhaps we can play again later," Balthier said. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back, for all the world as though they attended a diplomatic ball rather than huddling in an airship, barely one step ahead of Archades' forces. "Until next time, Princess."

Ashe curled up again next to the window, watching the rain leaving long beaded trails as it slid downward. She had expected the pirate to bargain for something, to attempt to wheedle some concession out of her if he had won or complain and sulk if he had lost. He had done neither, and it perplexed her. "He thinks ever and always on his own profit," she had told Vossler, when arguing for Balthier's inclusion in the excursion to Raithwall's Tomb.

And yet, it was the sky pirate who had lent her aid, and Vossler who had betrayed her. Ashe rested her chin on her knees and closed her eyes. She would not have thought to find betrayal among her most loyal knights, nor would she have thought to find aid unstinting in a pirate.

Seized with an impulse she did not fully understand, Ashe scrambled off the bed and went to find Balthier. He was in the pilot's seat, staring out at what he could see of Tchita through the pouring rain.

"Another round so soon, Princess?" he asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the drumming of the rain.

"I wished to thank you," she said, and the words came out far stiffer than she had intended. "You have rendered me significant aid, and I reiterate my promise that you will find remuneration in full when this is done."

He cocked an eyebrow. "And what brought this on?"

Ashe felt an angry flush creeping up her cheeks. "N-nothing," she said, and cursed the little catch in her voice.

Balthier swung his feet down from where they had been propped on an instrument panel and got up, coming to stand much too close to her for her own comfort. "I'll not trade you to the Empire, Princess," he said quietly. One corner of his mouth quirked into a faint smile. "Judges are stingy folk, and your reward promises to be of far greater value."

Ashe could think of nothing to say that was not insulting or puerile, and thus held her tongue.

The brush of his lips on her brow was entirely unexpected, and she nearly stumbled over Fran's seat when she took a startled step back.

He was smiling faintly. "Your move, Princess."

Ashe studied him intently, but could find no hint of the usual mockery in his expression. She crossed her arms, knowing it for a defensive gesture. "This requires consideration," she said.

"As I said—your move." He reclaimed his seat and turned his attention back to the sodden landscape.

Ashe hesitated a moment before returning to her quarters, but the feel of his kiss seemed to linger on her skin.

She wished she knew whether that meant good or ill.

**Author's Note:**

> The game that Balthier and Ashe are playing, which I dubbed Raithwall's Gambit, is actually a complete rip-off of The Royal Game of Ur, which you can look up on Wikipedia (but I take no responsibility for the three hours of fascinated clicking sure to follow and end with Taft in a wet T-shirt contest...) I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
